


keep it clean

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Big Dick Richie Tozier, Bottom Richie Tozier, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Smut, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Stanley Uris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: Richie will typically stop and kiss Stan on the cheek or the top of his head when he first gets home, but he’s still dripping wet and he doesn’t want to fuck up Stan’s book. The thoughtdoescross his mind, but Stan usually draws the line at outright destruction of property.Instead, Richie just asks, “How’s your day going, babe?”“Fine,” Stan answers without lifting his head. “How was your—Fuck,Richie, is it raining?”“Nope, took a shower on the walk home,” Richie tells him. Stan rolls his eyes as he pushes away from his desk.
Relationships: Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 12
Kudos: 224





	keep it clean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AppleJuiceisboss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleJuiceisboss/gifts).



> For [wxnter_fire](https://twitter.com/wxnter_fire)!

The skies open up on Richie’s walk home from class. He frowns up at the sky briefly, but there’s really not much he can do except pop the collar of his denim jacket and pick up the pace into a speed-walk. He tries to start jogging, once, but his soaked sneakers slip on the sidewalk and he almost goes head over heels, so he forces himself into the quick walk instead. Stan would just be concerned if he showed up back at their room drenched _and_ bleeding.

He gets to their room in good time, but he’s definitely soaked through by the time he makes it there. He fumbles with his key to their dorm before he gets in and shakes his hair out in the lobby of their building like a dog. Dripping, he drags himself to the staircase beside the broken elevator. Richie hops the stairs two or three at a time until he gets to the fourth floor and the room he shares with Stan.

The key slips in his wet fingers, again, when he unlocks the door to their dorm room, so it takes him a couple of tries, but he manages to get in. Stan’s sitting up and reading from a heavy textbook laid out flat on his desk; his spine is curved so dramatically it has to hurt, but Stan’s probably so deep inside the text at this point that he doesn’t feel it.

Richie will typically stop and kiss Stan on the cheek or the top of his head when he first gets home, but he’s still dripping wet and he doesn’t want to fuck up Stan’s book. The thought _does_ cross his mind, but Stan usually draws the line at outright destruction of property.

Instead, Richie just asks, “How’s your day going, babe?”

“Fine,” Stan answers without lifting his head. He reaches up blindly and grabs a bookmark, slipping it gingerly into the crease of the textbook before he gently closes it. “How was your— _Fuck,_ Richie, is it raining?”

“Nope, took a shower on the walk home,” Richie tells him. Stan rolls his eyes as he pushes away from his desk. There’s only a brief beat where Stan hesitates, looking Richie over and seemingly deciding where to start; then, though, he takes Richie’s denim jacket by the lapels and pushes it back off his arms.

“You don’t have anything tomorrow, right?” Stan asks, stripping Richie’s soaked t-shirt off over his head. Richie nods, unfastening his own jeans. They’re uncomfortably stuck to his skin; Stan has to roll the denim down inch by inch to peel them off.

“I don’t have any homework that needs to get done tonight, either,” Richie tells him. Stan stops at Richie’s ankles to untie his boots and tug them off, setting them and his socks by the radiator with the rest of his wet clothes. When Richie’s finally almost naked, standing there in his wet underwear, curly hair still dripping rainwater onto their carpet, he shivers. Stan rubs his upper arms for a moment before grabbing one of his own towels out of his closet, which is _saying_ something, because Richie’s not even allowed to _wash_ Stan’s towels on a regular day. He only ever gets to use them after showers when he’s sick or having a really bad day.

Now, though, Stan uses the huge pink towel to dry Richie’s damp skin, patting the water droplets off before he drags the fluffy material up to rub Richie’s hair dry. Richie takes off his glasses and squeezes his eyes shut through it.

“There,” Stan says, pulling the towel away. When he turns his back, Richie tugs his wet underwear off and leaves it by the radiator, too. Stan turns back and looks him over, then raises an eyebrow. “Let me brush out your hair. Get in bed.”

“Yes, sir,” Richie answers. They’ve pushed their two twin bed frames together the day they moved in and slapped a king mattress they saved up for on top to make themselves one huge bed. It occupies half the space in their room, but it means Richie gets to fall asleep with Stan curled around him every night. In his opinion, that makes it more than worth it.

Richie scrambles into bed, and Stan joins him only a few moments later, with Richie’s hairbrush and the pink towel. He works his way through Richie’s hair section by section, untangling the knots and drying the brushed-out strands each time he finishes a part. His legs bracket Richie’s hips as he works, his body so close to Richie’s that he can feel his heat along the line of his spine.

When Stan finishes, he gets up onto his knees and leans over Richie’s shoulder, turning Richie’s face with a light hand on his chin. When Richie obediently turns his head, he’s rewarded with a soft kiss for his efforts, but they’re both blowing past half-hard already and Stan doesn’t waste much time before he’s pushing Richie back against their mattress.

“Want to watch a movie after?” Stan asks, as he takes Richie’s cock in his hand and strokes him slowly. His skin’s still damp, and now Stan’s spreading his precum over the length of his dick, so he finds his rhythm smoothly, easily. Richie inhales sharply, hips jerking up. “I rented _Scream_ and _The Craft_ for us again.”

“We should just b— _buy_ them, fucking—” Richie manages to get out as Stan sucks a bruise into his throat. _“Stan—”_

“I’ll look the next time I go to the video store,” Stan tells him. “I was going to get you _Scream_ for your birthday, but we’re just wasting money renting it every week at this point.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate it, but can we focus on—” Richie starts to ask, but Stan doesn’t let him finish the question. Instead, he spreads Richie’s legs apart and places himself in between his thighs. He has to lean away, just for a moment, to open up the drawer of their nightstand and pull the lube out. They’d already fucked that morning, before Stan’s first class of the day, and Richie’s still loose when Stan slicks his fingers and slips them into him.

“Is that better?” Stan asks. Richie nods jerkily. Stan takes the opportunity to reach deeper, sliding his two fingers through Richie’s tight heat until he finds his prostate. The brush of his fingertips only push in a little, only give the _slightest_ pressure, but it still makes his stomach spark up and heat curl through his limbs.

“Stan, please,” Richie gasps. Stan slides his fingers out in one smooth movement before he’s lifting himself up onto his knees again. He nudges Richie’s knees just a little further apart, slicking his cock with lazy strokes as he surveys Richie with a critical eye. In the end, he pulls Richie’s right leg up over his shoulder. It’s only a second before he’s gripping Richie by the hip and entering him in one firm thrust.

Stan groans, a rumbling sound deep in his chest. He’s not incredibly vocal when they have sex, so Richie loves every small sound that he lets go. Personally, Richie’s so hard he’s _throbbing,_ his cock neglected and dripping onto his belly. Stan releases his hip to jerk Richie off in time with his thrusts. It’s too much, so fast, and the heat of Stan’s skin warms him up so viciously quickly that it helps push him to the edge and over it, until he’s spilling across both their bellies and chests.

“I love you,” Richie tells Stan, eyes unfocused. He can still see Stan without his glasses, this close, but he’s also got astigmatism so it’s just easier to close his eyes and drop his head back into their pillows. Stan takes the opportunity to push into Richie hard, hitting his prostate as he did so. Richie whimpers, hands snapping up to cling to Stan’s shoulders, and _then_ Stan cums, dropping his head to press to Richie’s damp chest.

“I love you, too,” Stan tells him roughly, still bowed over him. He spends a minute catching his breath; his chest is still heaving when he lifts his head to kiss Richie again.

Stan can’t take the tackiness of cum on their skin for longer than five minutes, so Richie just watches him slip out and climb off the bed for the snap-box of wet wipes they keep in the bottom drawer of Richie’s desk. He scrubs them both clean, then surveys Richie and scrubs them both again, until they’re both damp and flushed pink.

It’s past sunset, now, so Stan pops the rented videotape for _Scream_ into the player on their television before he flicks the overhead light off. Richie scoots up so he’s sitting upright, slightly, and opens his arms as Stan climbs back into the bed. Stan just smiles softly as he falls into Richie’s arms, his head pillowed back on his shoulder as the movie starts. The blue light of the television flares and glimmers as the movie starts, but it takes Richie more than just a few minutes to drag his eyes away from the way the soft shine illuminates Stan’s profile.

Richie drops his head, kissing Stan hard on the temple, holding his head in place with a firm grip at the back of his skull. Stan smiles slightly, leaning into him; Richie just buries his face in the spill of Stan’s tight curls. The movie keeps going, so familiar Richie could recite along with each line if he wanted, and he sighs, finally warm.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicolelianesolo](https://twitter.com/nicolelianesolo) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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